


I Promise to Stay in Bed

by BrokenKestral



Series: Whumptober2020 [13]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27263053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenKestral/pseuds/BrokenKestral
Summary: There's a plague going on, and SOMEONE won't stay in bed.
Series: Whumptober2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970584
Kudos: 26
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	I Promise to Stay in Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober Prompt 29: I Think I Need A Doctor  
> Reluctant Bedrest
> 
> Inspired by all the “Peter and Edmund are terrible patients” fanfiction stories out there. This is mainly fulff with a little bit of angst.

“Lucy’s out again.”

Peter and Susan set down their teacups. The healers had sternly  _ advised _ a break, “even just a quiet moment to breathe, Your Majesties, before you get back to work.” And both rulers conceded it might be needed. The High King had exhausted his body, stirring large pots of broth for hours, fetching ingredients from various neighbors, or carrying things for the healers, and Susan had worn herself out feeding the sick medicine or broth, tucking blankets around patients, smoothing wet clothes over the foreheads of the ones with human faces, and watering the Dryads with the careful, tepid solution the healers had created. 

But none of those were exactly  _ challenges, _ compared to the challenge of keeping Lucy in bed. 

Lucy had the high fever and the blackening fingers, her eyes red with sickness and exhaustion, but she still insisted that there were other, sicker Narnians who needed her. If left unsupervised for more than five minutes, she would hear a healer passing in the hall and go to see if he needed help, or hear a maid stumbling under a load of newly washed blankets, and off the Queen would go. Susan and Peter had left Edmund with her, but there  _ were _ healers who needed help, maids stumbling and whimpering from exhaustion, and if he’d left Lucy to go help one-

“I’ll take the sickrooms,” Peter said shortly.

“I’ll take the washing room,” Susan sighed.

“And I’ll take the kitchen. Sorry, you two. I did try.”

“She’s worse than you are this time about staying in bed, Ed,” Susan comforted. “None of us expected it, since she normally just clings to us. We’ll find her soon.”

“I’m half tempted to give her the cordial, just so we don’t have to watch her anymore,” Edmund grumped as he headed down the hallway at a swift pace. He never liked worrying  _ or _ failing at a task, and Lucy was making him do both. 

Lucy was not in the kitchen. Most of the Narnians, by now, knew to send their sick Queen straight back to bed as respectfully as possible (Edmund blamed Peter and Peter blamed Edmund for their knowledge on how to do that), and the cooks, especially, were smart enough not to let contagious people near the food everyone in the palace digested. Or so the disgruntled Elephant informed the King, as Edmund nodded and slipped out. He caught up to Peter in the sickroom, both surveying the room from just outside the open double door. (Only one ruler was allowed inside, as it would not do to have all Four sick at once, and Susan had pointed out, gently, that she was best suited.) The Dryads leaned against the back wall, far from the roaring fire, a few rotted fingers on the floor. Thankfully only beings of wood lost their appendages as of yet, and the Dryads said it didn’t hurt. But the healers were careful to continually wash their roots, inspecting them for rot. The Narnians without fur were on pallets closer to the roaring fire, huddled under blankets, and Narnians of all sizes bent over them.

Nowhere was there a small girl, nor anywhere did their ring the clear voice with its genuine concern. 

“The washing room?” Peter asked wearily, and Edmund nodded, too tired to use words. They turned to the long corridor (corridors should be shorter, Edmund thought slowly), down the stairs (it wouldn’t do to fall, but his head was ringing), and out to the room built to contain a small stream. It was full of steam, healthy Narnians washing clothing, blankets, even buckets, washing away the black flakes of skin and sweat from the sick. Susan bent over a large Hedgehog, and as the boys walked she gently ran her fingers over its head and turned back towards the door. She saw her brothers and shook her head. Peter extended her an arm, and they made their way some distance from the noise of water and rustling material. 

“Where can she have got to?” Susan wondered crossly. “She’s far too weak to climb to the towers, and wouldn’t have the reason to anyway. She wouldn’t go anyplace that’s empty, as it’s people needing help that draw her away, and most of Cair Paravel  _ is _ empty, thanks to this plague.”

“The library, to get something to pass the time?” Edmund offered the first thing that came to mind.

“That’s your solution, Ed, like the tearoom where we gather is mine. But we should check them both, just to be sure,” Peter commanded, though the words didn’t hold their usual weight.

“Nonsense,” said Susan firmly. “We’re all far too tired to go climbing all over the Cair. I’m enlisting the Birds’ help, they haven’t caught this illness at all yet, they can avoid touching anything inside, and they can cover ground far faster.” She went to the open window (most of the windows at Cair were open now), and whistled a surprisingly familiar tune. Both of her siblings looked at her with suspicion. “What?”

“Is that how you find us when we’re sick?” Edmund demanded. “How are we supposed to hide from  _ Birds _ ? They notice everything!”

“You’re  _ not  _ supposed to be able to hide from them, that’s the whole point, do grow a brain, E-” Fortunately a Sparrow interrupted her tirade’s beginning by landing on the windowsill.

“Your Majesty?”

“Good cousin, it appears we are in need of another hunt.”

The Sparrow hesitated. “Both of your brothers appear to be behind you, Your Majesty? Are you—are you not feeling well?”

“The hunt is for my sister this time.” 

“Queen Lucy? That’s—sorry, Your Majesty, just a bit unexpected. I shall gather the others at once.” A moment later the Sparrow had bowed and was gone. Susan looked around the hall, hesitated, and sank to the floor, leaning her head back against the wall and closing her eyes. 

Edmund and Peter, a bit of their irritation slipping away in the face of her tiredness, sat on either side of her. “Is that how you find us?” Peter asked finally.

“How did you think I found you?” 

Peter shrugged, and Edmund chimed in, “By the magic all mothers and older sisters seem to possess, the one that seems to skip brothers.”

Susan’s eyes stayed closed, but the corners of her mouth began tilting upward. “Birds are magic, I suppose.”

A chirruping behind her turned both Kings’ heads towards the window, and they saw an entire flock, Starlings, Robins, Sparrows, and even Seagulls, darting towards Cair Paravel’s windows, pausing for a moment at each one, and flying on to another. 

“We never had a chance,” Edmund muttered to Peter, and Susan’s face filled with a full smile as she opened her eyes and looked at Edmund.

“If you stopped getting out of bed when you should be resting, it wouldn’t be a problem,” but her tone was teasing instead of impatient. 

The three of them stayed silent for a moment, heads resting against the wall and their bodies aching with the need for sleep.

“I’ll make you a bargain,” Edmund put out suddenly.

“Me or Peter?” 

“Either.” 

“I don’t like your tone of voice,” Susan answered warily.

“Me either,” Peter chimed in without opening his eyes. “I swear, Edmund, now is  _ not _ the time. I’m too tired.”

“Suit yourself,” Edmund grumbled, and the conversation died into silence again.

Only this one wasn’t quite so restful. 

“Oh, what is it?” Peter asked impatiently.

“A bargain.”

“Yes, but what’s the bargain?”

“I promise to stay in bed when sick, not leaving without permission except for the necessities of nature, till I am declared fit to do so…” He had both his older siblings’ attention now, Peter listening with narrowed eyes, and Susan with a raised eyebrow. 

“I’m not sure you’ll be able to keep that promise, Ed,” Peter rebuked at the same time Susan said, “What could you possibly expect in return for that?”

“That you find Lucy and keep her in bed.”

Both siblings stared at him. “Come again?” Peter asked.

“You find Lucy, keep her in bed till she’s better, and I hereby swear that the next time I’m sick I’ll be a model patient.”

“Done,” Peter said immediately.

“Not quite,” Susan said, turning to Peter. 

“The next time he got sick we wouldn’t have to take shifts sitting on him, you can’t not take it-”

“I have no objection to  _ his _ side of the bargain,” Susan said exasperatedly. “And sitting on a sick person is  _ not _ a good way to keep him in bed!” Peter muttered something under his breath, something along the lines of, “It is if you’re Edmund Pevensie,” but Susan pretended not to hear. “I want you to promise the same thing. If  _ I _ find Lucy—and I expect to shortly—and if  _ I _ can keep her in bed, then  _ both  _ of you, the next time you are sick, you stay in bed till you’re declared fit by a qualified healer, not a friend you bribed, Edmund, and  _ you don’t leave the bed _ .” Both brothers fell quiet at her unusual vehemence, glancing at each other. 

“I promise,” Edmund put, far more hesitantly this time. 

“And I, my word as King and Knight,” Peter added.

“Good.” Though the single word rang with that same insistence, Susan followed it with a sigh. “I’m far too tired to deal with unruly patients, at least for the next few months.”

“The sickroom’s bad?” Peter asked, putting his arm around his sister.

“The Dwarves are the worst,” Susan muttered. “The Hedgehogs get cranky, but they just show their quills, and even a rabbit biting isn’t so bad, if I’m quick enough. But the Dwarves—I swear by Aslan, it’s like someone took all the grumpiness in Narnia and gave it to creatures with biting tongues and stubborn minds. Their attitude is a plague by itself. I’m half tempted to let them eat the dirt they’re all suddenly craving.” She sighed again, but smiled when Edmund moved closer. Peter stroked her hair, something he remembered their mother doing. He frowned.

“You’re a bit warm.”

“I was in the washing room, Peter, I’m bound to be warm.” She pushed his hand away and stood up. “I do believe that’s my friend coming back.” The boys caught it then too, the twittering call just outside the window, and they scrambled to their feet just as a Swallow landed on the Queen’s shoulder, Peter leaning heavily on the wall and Edmund blinking dizzily as he stood. Susan finished listening to the Narnian on her shoulder, looked at both her brothers, shook her head, and swept off. Peter and Edmund, shaking off the lingering weakness, followed after, but by the time they caught up she was kneeling beside their youngest sister. Lucy lay curled up in a ball just outside of Susan’s quarters. 

“Help me get to her to bed,” Susan commanded, her hands already checking Lucy’s temperature. “Can either of you?” she asked more doubtfully, listening to their ragged breathing.

“Allow me,” a voice said from behind, and Oreius scooped her up before either brother thought of protesting. The three followed him back to Lucy’s bed, Susan quickly pulling back the covers as he laid her down. “I shall get the healers, Your Majesties.”

Susan was stroking Lucy’s forehead, and Edmund and Peter both came forward to grab the youngest’s wrists above the gruesome hands, holding them tightly as she stirred. 

“Susan?” she asked wearily.

“I’m here. I found you.”

“I needed to see you. The Dwarves…”

“I’m here now. What about them?

“I can’t remember.” Lucy frowned, and the three siblings ached at her confusion. 

“Lucy, I need you to help me with something.” 

“Anything,” Lucy said instantly. 

“I need you to stay in bed.” Lucy frowned again, though not in confusion this time. “It will help me with the boys. Remember the last time Peter was sick, and he tried to go to the bottom of Cair Paravel, to check the armoury?” Lucy nodded. “He’s promised to stay in bed next time, he and Edmund both, if  _ you _ stay in bed.” 

Lucy thought about this, and Edmund tried very hard to focus on her forehead, wrinkled in thought, rather than the still disturbing glitter of fever in her eyes. “Sometimes I forget though,” she admitted quietly.

“I thought of that. I’m going to take my red scarf—see, this one? And I’ll just tie it around the bedpost, here, and now I’ll knot it gently around your wrist, and when you try to get out of bed-”

“The scarf won’t let me,” Lucy whispered.

“You’ll see the scarf and remember,” Susan corrected. “Promise to stay in bed?”

“The boys  _ really _ promised that?”

“We did,” Edmund confirmed, and Lucy’s eyes flickered down to meet his, and he ignored the way his throat closed as he saw the smile spread on her tired face. 

“Then I promise too,” Lucy said, closing her eyes. The three healers, who had been waiting by the door, came in and nodded at Susan in approval. The three stayed in the hall till the Owl came out and assured them that their sister had worn herself out, but was no worse than she’d been; the blackness hadn’t spread further and her fever hadn’t risen. 

“And she keeps repeating her promise, your Majesties, so I think one of us staying with her should be enough for now.”

The three glanced at each other, but Susan nodded, and the other two reluctantly agreed. “Very well,” Peter said to the Owl. “Thank you for your care, and please call us if she needs us.”

“Call  _ me _ ,” Susan put in, and four eyebrows were raised at her. “I seem to recall both of you made me a promise,” she said. “And I intend to hold you to it right now.”

“What?”

“I’m not sick!” 

Susan responded to Edmund first. “And if I were to touch your forehead right now, Edmund?”

“I haven’t been around people who were sick! That’s been you!” 

“Edmund, you’re so sick your intelligence is failing you. You’ve been  _ watching Lucy _ .”

Edmund scowled, but retreated as Susan made to feel his forehead. “All right, all right,” he grumbled, and Susan turned to Peter. 

“Your word, as King and Knight,” she reminded him. “Are you going to try to say you’re not sick? You’ve been taking just as many shifts as Edmund has.”

Peter smiled, a small, wry twist of his lips. “I think I’m too tired to argue at this point,” he admitted. 

“Then both of you to bed, and  _ stay there. _ You promised,” she pleaded more quietly, and Edmund stepped up to take her hand. 

“Peter keeps his word, you know that. And I keep mine. We’ll go to bed and stay there. We promise.” Susan smiled at him in relief. 

“Then I’ll see you both to bed,” she said, leading the way to Edmund’s, which was closer. She saw them both into the capable hands of valets and healers, the healers frowning at the fever and examining the fingernails for the first signs of rot. Edmund wasn’t so far gone, which both older rulers heard with relief, but Peter was, and when the door closed to his chambers so his valet could help him bath, Susan leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, a crystal tear sliding down one cheek. 

“Allow me,” a quiet voice said once more, and Susan opened her eyes to find Oreius reaching for her. He picked her up before she could blink in surprise.

“Oreius-”

“You have vanquished both your brothers, Gentle Queen. Do not think that your own illness has gone unnoticed.” The arm under her knees reached for her hand, holding up the white, slender fingers, and he sighed with relief at the lack of blackness at their tips. “You are not usually so short-tempered. You need to rest. And I can feel your fever climbing.” 

“But one of us has to be well, to deal with this,” Susan whispered. 

“It is in Aslan’s paws. And there has been a new development,” he added, climbing up the stairway with clomping hooves. “One of the Dwarves left the sickroom when three of the healers went out, and he went straight to the back garden.”

Susan groaned. “He ate the dirt the Giants brought for the Moles, didn’t he?”

“He did. He grew worse within the hour, and, according to one of my soldiers, stomped right back up to the healers, demanding they take a look at the dirt, because the Dwarves knew there was something off about it and the healers had kept them from testing it long enough. There was a vial buried in it, old and rusting. The substance within it was similar enough to some old notations of poisons the healers took note of its cure, and already the Narnians who took it are doing better. Especially the Dwarf who ate the dirt, as they gave him the cure first.”

Susan let her head rest on the broad chest beside her, tears falling from both eyes. It was over. It was done. She didn’t have to be strong and kind and  _ give _ anymore; she could let go. Oreius said nothing more, handing her into the strong limbs of the Dryad in her chambers, and Susan fell asleep before she could undress, listening to the rustling murmurings of Sakura about Queens and Kings who overworked themselves and caught plagues.

* * *

...And thus all the Four were sick at once, despite the best intentions of all. But take heart, for Oreius was right about the cure, and they were all well again within a few days. 

Though Susan bribed the healers not to declare the boys fit until two days after the girls got up. 


End file.
